


246 - High School Bad Boy Van & Good Girl Reader

by storiesaboutvan



Category: Catfish and the Bottlemen (Band)
Genre: F/M, Reader-Insert, Teenage Van
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-12
Updated: 2019-01-12
Packaged: 2019-10-08 17:04:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17390252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/storiesaboutvan/pseuds/storiesaboutvan
Summary: Filing the prompt “something set in high school where van is kind of a bad boy and reader is like a cliche good girl, had never even kissed a boy before van etc. anyway her and van have been secretly dating for a while cause her parents don’t approve of him and they set her up with some stuck guy with rich parents and van is super upset about it/doesn’t feel good enough/get jealous” and “YN who is dating van tries smoking for the first time with the guys and it ends up being paranoid and miserable and thinks all of the guys hate her the whole time, so stoned Van has to make YN feel better despite being stoned too”Bonus mini-request Van and Reader playing video games competitively.





	246 - High School Bad Boy Van & Good Girl Reader

People were watching you; you could feel their eyes burning into you. It made sense. You were the new girl. A novelty. Something to break up the monotony of the school day for all the bored-to-death students. For the most part, the stares were vacant and benign. Just curious. You tried to not look back too much. The school had paired you with a buddy, but she'd ditched you by first break, so you trotted along alone, pretending to not be lost for most of the day. You'd almost got away with the whole first day being beautifully uneventful when a messy boy tumbled out in front of you just before final period.

He tripped over his own boot's laces, then pretended it was a purposeful act. Hand out against the wall, he grinned at you.

"Ah, yeah, hey, love," he said. You frowned and held your books tighter. He smelt of cigarettes, which meant he was probably trouble. "You're the new girl. Got English together,"

"You weren't in my English class," you replied. You would have noticed him and his mop of brown hair. He grinned a lopsided smile and nodded.

"Saw you goin' in. I had, ah, other things to do, but it is my English class. Maybe I'll start going more, now I got you there. Can be my study buddy or somethin', yeah?"

You paused, then asked slowly, "Is that a rhetorical question?"

"A what?" the boy said, his nose crinkling in confusion.

"Rhe- ah, nevermind. Did you… want something? I've got class,"

"Oh, just saying hi… Hi… What's ya name? I'm Van," he said with a hand out to shake. A strangely adult mannerism for a teenage boy, but you shook his hand and the contact made you feel weird.

"Y/N,"

"Y/N. Great name. Wonderful name. I'll let ya get to class then. Wouldn't want to be a bad influence. You got History, yeah?" he asked. How did he know that? "Yeah, me too. Fuckin' hate it, so I won't be seeing ya there. But I'll see ya around, Y/N."

And Van walked away, stepping backwards and being monitored by a group of boys who were highly amused at his attempt at… whatever that was.

You went to History and found yourself distracted with theories about Van and his little motley crew. Were they really the bad boys of the school? If so, the school was fucking piss weak. One of them had on a cardigan that looked like it was knitted by his grandmother. Looked real warm, actually. Maybe they were the stoners. They skipped class to blaze up behind the bike shed or something. The possibilities were endless and they occupied your thoughts on the bus home and all through dinner with your family.

"Y/N?" your mother repeated. Her voice was annoyed and shrill.

"Sorry?"

"How was the school? Does it seem respectable enough?" she asked.

"Graffiti in the toilets?" your father added. Both you and your mother looked at him. He shrugged. "Bad schools have bad graffiti. Real explicit stuff. It's a good indicator,"

"How do you even know that?" you asked him, a little amused. He tapped his nose, like that meant something. You shook your head at him. Weird guy.

"Did you make any friends?" your mother asked. She was cycling through questions too quickly to be given any proper answers.

"Ah… Didn't really talk to anyone. Tried to keep my head down and take it all in. Um. One boy talked to me," you answered. Immediately, you regretted the decision to share that piece of information.

"A boy?!" your mother squeaked. Oh, the horror. Oh, the trauma. Oh, won't someone think of the children. Your father smirked over his mashed potato and chicken schnitzel. "Well, what did he want?"

"Just to say hi. Welcome to the school. That kind of thing,"

"What's his name? Does he live in the village? Where do his parents work?"

"How's she gonna know that, honey?" your dad asked her.

"He might have said,"

"He didn't," you confirmed.

"He didn't say his name?" she asked.

"He didn't say where he lived or what his parents do. His name is Van,"

"Van?!" That really got her feathers ruffled. "What kind of name is Van?"

"Van the man. Van with a plan. Seems like a useful name to me," your father said. He was gifted a glare to end all glares.

You changed the subject by volunteering some other random details about the school, about the teachers or other students or anything you could think of that might be more interesting than your very brief encounter with a boy named Van. You did your best to make it seem like nothing, but the way your brain was obsessing over it, and the prickly feeling running across your skin told you it was definitely not nothing.

…

Van rapped his knuckles on the desk, then plonked into the seat next to you. He wasn't even late. In fact, the teacher had yet to walk into the room and take the roll and start the lesson.

"Y/N. What's up? How are ya?" Van asked as he watched you get your notebook and pencil case out.

"I'm okay," you replied. Adding, "Thanks," at the end out of raised-in politeness. Van nodded and made the smallest of frowns. You went to speak again, ask him how he was, but he spoke again first.

"Just okay? Not great? Fantastic? Horrible? Tired? Just okay?"

You smiled. There was a boy who admitted to not going to English much at all, but was criticising you for your lack of imaginative vocab. Suddenly, before you could clarify your mood, the teacher walked in and began.

There was little opportunity for conversation. The lesson was a discussion of the latest chapter of the class novel. You had assumed Van hadn't read Gatsby when he rested his head on the desk and decided to watch you instead of listening to the teacher. Trying your hardest to pay attention to your classmates' misguided interpretations, your attention was completely divided. The teacher noticed.

"Ryan? Leave her alone, yeah mate?"

Van's head shot up and he grinned as the class sniggered. Apparently, he was not embarrassed about being caught looking at a girl.

"Sorry, Sir," Van said.

"Right. You even read the material? Know what we're on about?"

"Ah, Sir. You know I don't do too good with reading. But I talked to Blakeway 'bout it, so I reckon I'm gonna ace this essay," Van replied. The teacher shook his head. "Blake did this last year or so-"

"Yes, I know Matthew-" the teacher interrupted, only to be interrupted himself.

"Sir! Don't be callin' him that! It's Benji,"

"Right. Right. Benji. Van. Rockstar names, huh?" the teacher asked. There was an amused tone in his voice, but it wasn't nasty.

"Well, we had them names before we thought to start a band, but yeah. Works, don't it?"

The teacher sighed and at the end of an eye roll his gaze landed on you. "What about you, Y/N. What did they teach you in your old school? Studied Fitzgerald before?"

The attention of everyone turned to you. They were used to Van, but you were a novelty. Your mouth went dry and your spine began to curve inwards.

"Sir. Why you got to put her on the spot like that?" Van asked.

"She's got her own voice. She can use it."

You took a breath in and nodded, then shook. "No… I haven't studied him before, but I've read it. My… My mum read the book to me a couple of years ago,"

"An odd bedtime story," the teacher said. He was clearly impressed.

"She said it was a warning about how ah… fragile… boys are."

A few people made sounds of laughter. They were the ones that understood the book. Van smiled even though he didn't understand what was happening. The teacher nodded.

"Hear that Ryan? She knows boys are fragile. Jigs up," the teacher said as he returned to reading a passage out loud.

"You're dead smart," Van whispered as you tried to follow along with everyone else with your nose buried in the novel. "I like smart."

When the bell signalled the end of lesson, you ducked from the room before Van could say anything to you. Overwhelmed more than anything else, you needed a second to catch your breath and get a hold of yourself. "Oh no," you whispered as you stood in a toilet cubicle and felt what was undeniably a crush consolidate in your heart and in your head.

"What's wrong? Need some toilet paper? A pad?" said a bright and friendly voice from the next cubicle over. She had good hearing.

"Ah, sorry. No. I'm okay. Thank you."

You muffled your embarrassed moans into your sleeve and tried to not literally die. 

…

"Fancy seein' you here!"

You spun around in the supermarket aisle to find Van. A Saturday morning, he was out of school uniform and therefore dressed like himself. He wasn't like the rich private school boys you saw around your old school. He wasn't like anyone you knew.

When you didn't reply to him, Van stepped closer and looked in your shopping basket. You thanked God there was nothing embarrassing. Your mother had sent you to pick up eggs, brown sugar and some oats. She'd given you a couple extra dollars to buy yourself a treat. And, that's where you were - standing in front of a wall of chocolate and candy, making a considered choice.

"That's grown up stuff," Van commented on the eggs and oats.

"My mum sent me to get her things," you replied. He nodded at the useless information.

"Cool. I'm here with my mum. Lost her in the vegetable section. She thinks if I pick my own I'm gonna eat more, but I just ain't, you know? It's not my fault I don't like vegetables. Just the way I was born,"

"What do you like?"

He was happy you'd asked something. "Curry. Strawberry milkshakes. Cookies. Chips,"

"Chips are potato. Potato is a vegetable," you replied.

"That's good thinking, Y/N. Can you tell my mum that? I already laid the grown work, see. Said you was smart and all. She'll listen if you tell her I'm allowed to just eat potatoes for the rest of my life."

You grinned at him.

"I'm not telling your mum that,"

"Course you're not. You're all good and stuff, right? Do what you're told?"

You didn't know why you were so offended when it was so true. Still, you frowned and turned back to the chocolate wall. Van didn't seem dismayed by your reaction. He took another step closer to be next to you.

"Chocolate is made from cocoa beans or seeds or something," you suddenly said. Van looked at you with a blank expression. "And… um… that technically means it's a fruit. So… chocolate is kind of a fruit? Especially if you get the one with more fruits and nuts in it."

Van's face lit up and he quickly pulled a block of fruit and nut chocolate from the shelf.

"Come on," he said, taking your hand and pulling you away. Nobody had ever just… grabbed you before. Nobody had held your hand or… or anything like what Van was doing. What was he doing?

As he slowed down at the end of each aisle, you worked it out. He was looking for his mother. He found her putting milk into her shopping cart.

"Ryan! Where'd you get to? Did you find that tea your da likes? Who's this?" she asked.

"Tell her," Van said to you. His mum looked from him to you and you looked from him to her. Oh god.

"Tell me what?"

"Uh… Chocolate is a fruit… because it's made from cocoa beans and they come from the fruit of the cocoa tree. So technically…" you stuttered out. Van laughed when you finished.

"And! Get this, Mary, chips! Fish and chips is just fish and potato and potato is a vegetable. So chips and chocolate is veggies and fruit, so there!"

His mother looked supremely unaffected and unamused.

"Good try, kids," she said and went to move on. Suddenly, she stopped and looked at you. "Are you the new girl he's been banging on about?"

"Ah-" How could you answer that?

"She's got a name. Y/N, this is my mum. Mary, Y/N,"

"Nice to meet you, love. Ryan. Go get the tea. And put that chocolate back."

As she continued on down the dairy section, Van turned back to you and grinned. He really was unaware of all the awkward stress he was putting you under.

"Was worth a shot. Anyway. What are you doing tomorrow?" he asked as he began to unpeel the chocolate wrapper.

"What?"

"Tomorrow. Sunday. Busy?"

Van started to break pieces of the chocolate off and eat. He held one out to you. Looking around, there weren't any workers packing shelves to tell you off. There were no adults around. You took the piece and let it start to melt on your tongue.

"No,"

"Got pen and paper in ya bag? I'll give you my address. Come over and hang?"

"Don't you have to ask your parents?" you asked back.

"Nah. Kinda already asked type of thing. They said if I ever just worked up the courage to ask you over, then I'd have permission. Constantly underestimating me, that lot," Van answered with a shrug. He ate more chocolate.

"Um. I'll… have to ask my parents,"

"That's cool. I ain't doing anything anyway. Just come if you're allowed."

You nodded and handed him your journal open to a new page. You held the chocolate as he scribbled down his address. When he was done, you swapped objects and he began to walk backwards away from you.

"See you tomorrow, Y/N," he said with a confidence that should have been annoying - it was so presumptuous - but wasn't. Maybe it was just there was novelty in having a boy's attention for the first time. Maybe it was just his harmlessness. Regardless, you nodded at him and watched him walk away eating chocolate he was explicitly told to not eat.

…

You stood on the corner of Van's street for a couple of minutes trying to work out if you should just catch the bus home and admit the truth. The lie you'd told to your parents wasn't that bad. Technically, you were going to a friend's house. Technically, someone named Mary did live at the house.

Chewing your lip, you watched an old lady walk down the street with a little white fluffball of a dog on a lead. When she got to Van's house, the dog went nuts and started to bark like crazy. A second dog, one on the inside of Van's yard, was yapping back. It must have been small too, otherwise you'd have seen it over the short picket fence. The old lady was having a hard time controlling her dog when suddenly Van bounded out the front door and scooped his dog up. In his arms, you could see the small fluffy brown dog. He and the lady spoke; it was a short conversation and she continued on her way.

You ducked behind a mailbox and waited for Van to go back inside. He stood out on the front step of his house though, looking up and down the street. After a minute he disappeared inside with his dog.

Watching the street for another minute, you chickened out and pulled the bus timetable from your bag.

"Can tell you a shortcut, love. Don't need a bus to get to mine from here."

Van's voice from behind you made you jump and squeak. His dog was still in his arms, and your sound made him bark. Van laughed at you both.

"Where did you come from?!" you yelled.

"Home,"

"I just saw you-"

"So, you were just watching me? Bit weird,"

"No! I… I, ah," you went to explain, but what could you say.

"Road out the back of mine curves around the block. Sneak in and out that way. Mum watches this road for me. None the wiser," Van said with a grin. You nodded, then stepped closer to pat the dog. The dog squirmed with the attention. "So… Were you coming over, or… 'Cause if you wanna go home, I'll just get Dad to drive ya,"

"I wasn’t trying to go home," you quickly said, even though you were.

"You sure? Really don't want to make you-"

"No! I'm sure. I'm coming over. Can I hold him?"

Van handed the dog over. "Her."

Following Van down the street, you felt comforted by the dog in your arms. Inside his house, you said a polite hello and how are you to Van's mum. As you went down a hallway and into his room, she yelled, "Doors open!"

Van snorted. "Like I'd be that lucky," he mumbled under his breath.

You sat cross-legged on Van's bed and watched him frantically show you all the records and memorabilia in his room. For the first time, you could see that he was nervous. He was trying hard to impress you, or at the very least, to let you know him. Van was a simple person; he liked music and video games and football. He constantly bickered with his parents, but he loved them. He loved his friends too; he spent a lot of time talking about them. It was enough that you felt like you knew them all too.

After almost two hours of him talking, he finally got tired. Van laid out on his bed and the dog trotted over to him. He started to play with her ears, pushing them inside out.

"So… What about you? What did you tell your parents 'bout me?"

"I didn't. I lied. They wouldn't ever let me go to a boy's house,"

"I'm impressed, love. Didn't have you down for the lying to the parents type," Van said with a smirk.

"I'm not… Well, I wasn't… They don't really let me do anything though. Treat me the same now as they did when I was like, five," you replied. He nodded.

"Just looking out for ya, I guess."

It was a response that said a lot about the type of respectful person he was. You nodded, because you really did agree.

"I know that. My dad's a little more chilled about everything. But yeah. No. Boys would be a hard no."

"Well, I'm glad I'm worth the risk then," Van said. You hadn't meant to imply that, but there it was. "What else? What kind of music do you like? Do you play Fifa?"

And so it was your turn to talk. Never in your life had you volunteered information so readily. Van was a different type of listener than everyone else that you had met. He was attentive and asked curious questions. His gaze focussed on you and it was intense, a stark point of difference to the happy-go-lucky nature of everything else about him.

When you couldn't think of anything else to tell him, you said so.

"And that's it," you said with a nod. You were so, so comfortable sitting on his bed, watching his mum walk by every so often. The dog would come and go as she pleased.

"That's it," Van repeated. "Well, Y/N. Think I'm a little in love with ya, but guess there's only one way to find out," he announced, standing up.

His back was to you as he sorted through video game controllers and disks. He had said it so casually. Maybe it was a joke. Your eyes had watered though and you wondered how you were going to ever breathe again. Then, a man appeared in the doorway.

"Van. You offered your friend a cup of tea?"

"Shit! No. Sorry. Y/N, this is my dad, Bernie. Dad, this is Y/N."

You waved politely and he nodded at you. Van pushed him from the door and you watched him go off down the hallway. A saving thing; it gave you a minute to calm yourself. He wasn't in love. That was silly. So silly.

Van returned with a cup of tea for you. Somehow, amidst the inordinate amount of information you'd given him, he remembered the milk and sugar ratio.

"Alright. Here we go," he said, sitting back on the bed and handing you a controller.

"I don't know how to play,"

"Yeah, you said. I'm gonna teach you, and if you can beat me, I'll give you whatever you want," he said with a stupid smirk.

"How could I beat you when I'm only learning?"

Van shrugged, then began with the basics.

To Van's absolute horror, it only took you an hour to get good. Once you were good, you got confident. Once confident, you were a challenge. You could tell Van was genuinely threatened because his voice rose by a couple hundred octaves. Bernie came and stood in the doorway, watching.

"Give her some practice and she'll have you beat," he said.

"No!" Van yelled. "I'm the best! Not even Larry can beat me,"

"But I will," you whispered.

Dramatically, Van paused the game just to glare. He turned to look at his father. "What do you want? Come to watch me fail, huh?"

"That ain't a rare occurrence, mate," he joked. Van rolled his eyes and threw a pillow across the room. "No. Ya mum wants to know if Y/N is staying for dinner. You're welcome to, love. Just getting late."

Out the window of Van's bedroom, you could see the low sun. Soon it would set.

"Oh, I better head home actually," you said.

"No. Stay for dinner," Van replied, doing his best puppy dog face. You smiled at it.

"Can't. Told my mum I'd be home by dinner time,"

"Did you want a ride home then?" Bernie asked.

"It's okay. Bus stop is just around the corner. It's only fifteen minutes. Thanks though. And thanks for having me,"

"No trouble, love. It was good to meet you. We'll see you soon." And with that, Bernie was off.

Van looked sad and it was amusing. He was all drama. You were sure when he made it to stadium stages, he'd milk it for all it was worth.

"I'll walk you to the stop then," he said. You nodded and let him take your hand. When you went by Mary and Bernie in the kitchen, they didn't comment on the contact. Van was quiet as he walked with you down the road. The quiet was nice. A warm sort of thing. You sat side by side on the bus stop bench.

"I'm glad I came," you said, unsure how to make whatever the day was, happen again. It was all so new to you, even if it felt natural and easy.

"Me too. Really didn't think you would, honestly. You're way too good to be hanging out with me,"

"You keep saying that, but I think we have heaps in common. Just not like, obvious straight away or whatever," you replied.

"I guess. Yeah. Yeah, I like that."

As you waited, you talked about your mutual love for your English teacher, and how you could sneak future hang sessions together. When the bus rolled down the street, you stood and looked at Van. He licked his lips nervously, then went to speak. His face twitched as he decided against words. He pulled you into a hug and held you tight. You hugged back and tried to give words to how he smelled so you wouldn't forget.

…

When your parents started asking why your friend Mary never came to visit, you realised you would have to kill her off. At least, symbolically. Telling them the truth was not an option, but you told them she had moved countries and that was that.

"Well, that's sad, honey. She was a good friend, wasn't she? Have you made any others? Been here for a while now," your mother said.

You had been there long enough that you weren't even the new girl anymore. Still, no… you'd not really made other friends. There were people in your classes you were friendly with, and your friendship with Van meant that if you wanted other people to hang with, you had them. He was cool, so you were by rule of proximity. Most of the time you were with Van though.

"Um… kind of. Remember how I told you about that boy from the first day? The really nice one? Van?" you said, taking a calculated risk. Your mother stopped washing the dishes to look at you. You continued to dry, the tea towel making an audibly squeaky sound on the plate. "Well… He's my friend. He's really good at music, so he's been helping me with my piano homework,"

"I thought Mary was doing that,"

"Yeah! She was. But Van has been too. Um. And he's really good at English. He writes… poems… and stuff. So… And um, his parents run a bed and breakfast. They are really nice,"

"How do you know? Have you met them? When did you meet them?"

"By accident! I met his mum at the shops one time when I went for you. And his dad picks him up from school sometimes," you said. You could feel your heart beating out of your chest. It hurt.

"You need to be careful around boys, Y/N…" she started.

"I know. I know. But he is different to other boys. He's like… just… all goofy and stuff. He named his dog after his mum because he loves them both so much,"

"Sounds like a weirdo," your father added. He was sitting at the kitchen table reading the newspaper. It was his first contribution to the discussion.

"He is… but in a good way… you know?"

"Maybe we should have him over for dinner?" he asked.

"Yes! Yes! Mum?!"

She looked utterly pissed that the suggestion had been made, but you were a child that didn't ask for much. "Fine."

…

It was hard to not laugh at Van when he was dropped off at your house. He was in his usual dirty boots and jeans, but he had a button up on and a suit jacket.

"Don't you be laughing at me!"

"What are you-" but you couldn't even say it. The hysterics began.

"You said your parents were all fancy, so I figured if I don't want 'em to hate me…"

"No. No. It's great. You look very handsome. And kind of like you're gonna sell them a used car, but-"

"You know what, Y/N. Don't know why I fuckin' bother," he said with a grin.

You held your arms open and the hug calmed you both. With your chin rested on his shoulder and your breathing synchronised with his, you closed your eyes. You were standing on the front porch of your house and you hoped to God your mum wasn't watching through the window.

"I'm sorry in advance," you said.

"Really gonna be that bad?"

"Maybe. I don't know. Just… Please don't hate me,"

"Impossible, love. Now come on. Let's get this show on the road," Van said, but made no move to let you go.

You stayed hugging for a moment longer, then you lead him inside to his probable doom.

…

The streetlights were guiding your way to a destination you hadn't planned yet. It didn't matter. As long as you were far away from your kitchen, from your parents, then you'd be better. Van's voice was calling out for you. A faster runner than you, he'd catch up quickly. The icy air turned your tears cold as they rolled down your cheeks. When your lungs started to burn, you stopped running. Van was there in a second and he stopped his own momentum by ripping you into a hug. It turned your silent crying into loud sobs.

"Love. Love. It's okay. Shhhhh. Ah. Fuck. Seriously. Don't cry. Come on," he tried. You buried your face in his chest and held onto his suit jacket. His arms were around you and his hands were running up and down your back. Van was doing his best to comfort you.

"I hate them," you said between sobs.

"Don't say that. You don't hate them. You just… you're different to them. Happens all the time. Some kids just ain't like their parents. It will be okay. They don't have to like me, Y/N,"

"But I want them to!" you almost yelled in response. Van made a strange chuckling sound. You looked up at him; he was smiling. "Why are you smiling! This isn't funny!" You went to step out of his embrace, but he held you in place.

"No, love, I know. I fucking know. It's just… You want them to like me…" he said. You shrugged, nodded, face fixed in a state of visible confusion. Obviously you did. "Means you like me," he continued.

"Course I like you,"

"No, I mean… like like… like I like you," he stated. You could hear the smugness in his voice then.

"I've just yelled at my parents and probably been grounded until I'm like…. fifty… and I'm all ugly and crying and got snot on your nice jacket and you're just thinking about if I like you?!"

Van grinned and nodded. "Yeah… pretty much. Didn't notice the snot though, to be honest. Don't worry. It will wash right out," he said, looking down at his jacket.

You couldn't help but laugh, which made Van smile wide.

"You're so ridiculous," you whispered, shaking your head and wiping your face clean. You took a deep breath in and felt a little calmer.

"We good? You're okay?" Van asked.

You gave him one solid nod. He returned the action, then stepped closer. You watched him carefully, curious about what he was thinking and doing, but completely unaware of where he was going. So, when he pressed his lips to yours, you didn't move. In fact, your entire body froze. Van kissed you lightly, once, then stopped. He watched you for a reaction, but you were frozen solid.

"Try again," you said in a kind whisper.

When his lips touched yours a second time, you came alive. You pressed yourself close to him in hopes he'd hold you in a hug, which he did. You kissed back. Your first ever kiss. A bittersweet moment, but a perfectly beautiful act.

Van pressed his forehead to yours.

"It really don't matter, Y/N. We'll figure it out. Come on. It's dead freezing out here. I'll walk you home, then head off. Don't wanna ruffle any more feathers, yeah?"

As a painfully self-aware teenager, you were sceptical that you could even know what real love was. Surely anything you experienced was just amplified by hormones. Surely it was all puppy love and seen through immortal rose-tinted glasses. Somehow still, you knew, you just fucking knew, you were in love with Van.

…

"Yeah… but… like… what happens if someone did though?" Larry asked again. His words were formed slowly. They were repeated, like he didn't understand any form of logic. Van laughed at him.

"Nobody is going to tell my parents because nobody knows but you guys," you said. "And I guess Mary and Bernie, but technically they just think we're friends,"

"Yeah…" Larry started again. "But… what…."

"I don't know, Larry! I don't know what happens if someone tells them! Maybe they put me in an all girls' school or something," you said, annoyed that out of all the things his stoned brain could wonder about the world, he wanted to know what your parents would do if they found out you had been dating Van since the awful dinner. It had been two months.

"I… wanna go to an all girls' school…" Benji said. He was laid out on the floor, his bass on. It took a couple of minutes for you to work out he was playing a song, just in slow motion.

"If they find out… nothing happens…" Van said. "We'll be fine."

He was sitting next to you on the couch in the shed out the back of Larry's house. It's where you'd often hide away. Sometimes you would spend time with the three of them, watching them smoke dope and talk about the band. Sometimes you'd watch them try to make music. Sometimes it was where you and Van would make out without anyone knowing. Essentially, it was your home away from home. If anyone had asked your parents though, they’d say you were at Benji’s house, with his sister, who charged $50 to keep a secret. 

The topic of your parents made you nervous. Van watched as you chewed your nails.

"Love, do you wanna maybe… try…" Van started to say. 

"You said you didn't want me to smoke. Said you're saving me from all that," you replied with a smirk.

Van was known to be very stubborn in his opinions, but he was also prone to hypocrisy.

"Well… look… ain't giving you a ciggie 'cause that tobacco is fuckin' pointless. Booze will give ya a hangover. Bit of weed will be alright. You're pretty calm anyway. Probably just mellow you out, love, I reckon," he theorised. Larry nodded in agreement. Benji wasn't on planet Earth.

Watching Van pack a pipe was a strangely hot thing. It was probably something about the inherent badness of it, about doing something naughty. Van could read it in your face. Before he went to show you how to smoke it, he kissed you hard. You could taste the dope and it made you want.

You'd never coughed so hard in your life. It was an automatic reaction you couldn't control. The lack of control made you nervous and even when you had settled and could feel the strange heavy, haze, you didn't feel good.

Nothing felt good. The skin on your arms and legs felt all prickly. Your head pounded with an ache unimaginable. Your heart… oh, your heart! It was broken! My parents hate me, you thought. My mum doesn't love me! Who did that leave you with then? You'd moved to a new place and made friends with one person. One boy. A boy so beautiful and larger than life and totally destined for great things that he couldn't possibly love you. You could not be the one he'd want to marry and have babies with. Oh, your fucking heart.

Suddenly, Van was holding your face between his hands. He was almost yelling your name. Even Larry and Benji were sitting up and looking at you with concerned looks on their faces.

"Should I get her something?" Larry asked.

"Ah, yeah. Get her some water, mate. And maybe cup of tea," Van replied to him, looking over his shoulder then back at you. "Y/N. Y/N. Look at me. Hey. Hey. You're okay. Look." You tried, but the light hurt. "Baby, hey. Hey. Your parents don't hate you. They don't. They just want the best, and they don't get that I'm the best for you. We'll show them, huh? They love you so, so much. Baby. Y/N. Look at me." Nothing. You could hear him though. It was a small movement, but you nodded. "Yeah? Good. Baby. You're okay."

Your eyes weren't even open, you realised. You had watched Larry leave and then they had closed. Van was on his knees in front of you. When you nodded, his head fell into your lap and his arms went around you.

Larry returned and Van put the warm mug in between the palms of your hands. The heat helped. It was grounding. Slowly, your eyes opened and you looked around.

"Van?" His head shot up and he looked at you. "What happened?" you asked.

"Didn't even know people could have a bad trip on weed," Larry commented, falling down into one of the armchairs and getting his phone out.

"What happened?" you repeated.

"Ah… you spaced out for ten or so… then started crying… Said some stuff. You're okay though. Just… Fuck. I'm sorry, baby. I shouldn't 'ave… Maybe your mum's right, huh?" Van said.

"What?!" you squeaked. "She's-"

"Sorry! Baby. Sorry. Bad joke. You're okay. I love you, yeah. I love you to bits. You're okay."

You looked at Van, at his worried expression that was hiding the fact he was just a little entertained by it all. There was no time to be embarrassed or apologise or any of that. Van had said it. He'd said it once before, the first time you went to his… but that didn't mean anything. He didn't know you then. It was just a crush then. Now. Well, it was different.

"Say something," Van said, moving to sit next to you on the couch. The scene had returned to normal. Larry had turned on the old television and challenged Benji to a game of Fifa. You looked down at the mug of tea in your hands. Even Larry knew how you took it, you drank enough of it. When they stayed up drinking stolen wine, you'd have tea and look after your precious drunk babies.

"You… said…"

"Said what?" Van asked. "That I love ya?" He knew exactly what he'd said. "Want me to say it again? Y/N. I love you to bits. You're far too pretty and smart for me, but hey, I'll fuckin' take you while I can."

Feet well and truly nowhere near the floor, you couldn't really respond, but he didn't need you to.

"Van? Do you love me too?" Benji asked.

"And me? Do you love me too, Van?" from Larry.

You laughed a little bit, then laid down on the couch, head in Van's lap. He brushed through your hair while you listened to the boys banter and giggle late into the night.

…

"What do you mean they tried to set you up with someone?"

Van's voice was void of the humour you'd anticipated. He was angry.

Larry's shed was lit by a few candles only; it's what you did when you were using it as a hideaway for two. As Van paced, the air around moved with enough force to make the candles flicker.

"I mean, I think that's what they were doing? They invited some people over, new friends or whatever, and they have a son our age," you tried to explain. It felt like you were defending your own role in it all, despite not having done anything wrong. Van looked at you for more information. "And they just kept, like, telling me all this stuff about him. Like, trying to make him sound good or whatever. And they did that to him about me,"

"What did they say about him? Why's he so good?"

"I don't know," you responded with a shrug. It didn't matter to you what the boy was like. You were in love with Van.

"You don’t know? What, you just closed your ears or something? What do you mean you don't know?" Van's tone was acidic and it hurt to hear. You crossed your arms over your chest and pulled your legs up onto the couch with you.

"Don't talk to me like that. I didn't do anything!" you whined. Your nose started to tingle, on the verge of tears. Van stopped pacing and looked at you. His frown didn't shift though. "I didn't commit it to memory or anything. He gets like… super good grades or whatever. Goes to that fancy private school. The one with the ugly uniform. And… I don't know, Van. I don't care about him!"

You stood up, fists balled and hurt more than angry.

"I'm-" he went to say.

"No. Don't. I just… I don't know what you want me to do, Van. I don't know how to make you believe that I love you like you love me. You always joke about it and stuff. Say I'm too good, and I know you just… say that stuff, but it makes me feel like I'm doing a bad job at being your girlfriend. I just… It's not my fault my parents did some weird set up thing. I'm sorry that I'm not loving you like you want me to. Okay? I'm just… I should go,"

"No, wait. Y/N!"

But you were out the shed door and off in the darkness before Van had a chance to see which way you went. When you arrived home your mother went to quiz you. Why hadn't she heard a car drop you home? Why were you crying? Why were you so rude to… whatever his name was? But, your father called her name. He'd figured out what you'd been hiding and was still working out a way to make both his wife and his child happy.

Headphones in so you'd not hear Van knocking on your bedroom window, you cried yourself to sleep.

…

It was strange that your father took a day off work to look after you when you were sick. Usually it was your mum that would make the lemon and honey tea. In the morning though, before you even got up and faked a cough, it was him knocking on the door.

"Called you in sick to school, darling," he said in a barely there whisper.

Listening, you could hear a hushed conversation between your parents. Your mother left for work, and you were left alone for a couple of hours. In the time, you mostly threw yourself around dramatically in your bed, and then attempted to find your artist streak in all your teen angst. Most of your drawings ended up in the bin and you ended up back under the covers, listening to any song that even vaguely reminded you of Van.

Around lunchtime, your father came back into your room. "Time to get up. Have a shower, get dressed. We're going out,"

"What? I'm sick," you replied from under the blankets.

"Yeah, but not the type that means you can't come out for lunch. We'll go to that place you like in town,"

"The one with the blueberry toast?" you asked hopefully, sticking your head out. Your dad nodded and left you to it.

You were on your second piece of toast and halfway through a pot of tea when you became suspicious. Your father was drinking his flat white slowly, looking around the café. No. Not around the café. Out of the café. He was expecting someone.

"Dad! If this is another set up! Or if that guy…" you said, standing up. He quickly put his hand on your arm.

"No, Y/N. It's not. Sit down." You looked at him with scepticism. "I promise. Sit."

You sat back down and took another bite. "But we are waiting for someone," you stated, smug in your detective work. Your father sighed but before he could explain, the explanation walked through the door in the hoodie you loved to wear.

Van looked nervous. Really, really nervous. He was chewing his lip as he took the third seat at your table. Just seeing him made you want to cry.

"You're not friends with that girl, are you?" your father asked you. You plead the fifth. "You've been with this one,"

"When…"

"A little while ago. Ah, Y/N. You're our only kid, you know? We just want what's best for you. Problem is… maybe we have to let you guide us a little on that one, now?" your father said.

You nodded and could feel your eyes welling up with tears.

"And, ah…" Van said after clearing his throat. His voice sounded weird, like he was trying to make it sound deeper. Probably trying to act all mature in front of your dad. "I… I promise that I'll be the thing that's best for you. I know we're just kids… but, like, I'll be the best boyfriend you've ever had-"

"You're the only boyfriend I've ever had," you said with a grin.

"Exactly! Only one you need. I'll be good to you and I'm dead sorry for getting all weird 'bout that other thing-"

"What other thing?" your father asked.

"Not that!" you quickly answered. Oh God, not that. Not yet.

"Yeah, no… um… I just… I love you. That's what I am trying to say. I love you, Y/N," Van said.

"I'm sorry too. And I love you too. Oh my gosh. I was-"

"I know. Babe. I fucking know," Van laughed, standing to pull you into a hug. As you rested your head on Van's shoulder, like you had a million times before, you glanced over at your dad. He was smiling. Maybe he was happy that you were happy. Maybe he was laughing internally at the thought of the first time Van would inevitably accidentally swear in front of your mum. Whatever the reason, you were glad to see the smile, and returned it, dimples and all.


End file.
